


Test Subject

by hato



Series: Untitled Series [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hato/pseuds/hato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a new test subject.  John is not pleased.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Test Subject

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Pure, unadulterated ridiculous fluff. Seriously, ridiculous. Also, an OC from A Child in Our Midst Occurs after S2Ep2.

“ What’s  _she_ doing here?”    
  
“ How rude, John. She’s our guest.”  
  
“ Alright,  _why_ is she here? With  _you_ ? “ John stands in the open doorway of their flat, shopping bags hanging from each hand, eyes blinking in disbelief because there is no way that he is seeing this correctly.  
  
Sherlock sitting in his customary chair, elbows on the arms, steepled fingers pressed lightly against his lips.  Gaze intent.  
  
And their little red-haired neighbor, Sophie, sitting in John’s favorite chair, small hands clasped together in near approximation of Sherlock’s pose. Gaze just as intent.  
  
Wearing an insanely bright  jumper, spring green with large orange kittens frolicking across the front.  John suffers such jumper envy.  
  
Sherlock, never taking his eyes from Sophie or his fingers from over his mouth, replies in a distracted  voice. “  She’s here with you, as far as her mother is aware. “  
  
John blinks again. “ I’m sorry?”  The bags are getting heavy.  
  
Sherlock huffs a bit in his usual Really-John-Isn’t-It-Obvious way. A subtle gesture that screams volumes to those able to read it. Sometimes, John wishes he was illiterate when it comes to Sherlock. “ Mrs. Bingley was in something of a quandary. Apparently her niece was to ride in this morning from Chelmsford to watch the child until Mr. Bingley’s shift ends at noon. However, the niece never showed. Mrs. Bingley thinks she simply forgot, busy with finals and such, but I believe the girl is still passed out after yesterday’s victory for her uni football team. Her current boyfriend is the winger, great stamina is required for such a position, so I’m certain they spent the majority of last night shag-”  
  
“ Sherlock!” John cuts off his friend in sharp reprimand. “ Not for little ears!” He watches Sophie for any signs of following the adult conversation. She seems oblivious, still focused on mimicking Sherlock.  Bright blue eyes, like bloody marbles, locked onto the paler ones across the way.  
  
Sherlock sighs. John listens as he heads to the kitchen to put up the shopping. The milk is probably already too warm. “ As I was saying, the niece never showed and with Mrs. Hudson visiting her sister this week Mrs. Bingley had to resort to alternative measures. She knocked this morning, seeking your assistance. ”  
  
John snorts. “ She found you instead.”  He puts up the milk and yogurt, leaves a package of vanilla biscuits on the counter. Puts on the kettle. “ And was actually desperate enough to leave Sophie with you?”  
  
“ No. I told her you were in the loo and would be right out. She didn’t question my veracity.”  
  
John hangs his head. “ You lied.”  He’s not surprised that Sherlock lied, exactly. Just that he bothered to in the first place. “ I’m glad you agreed to help her out, the poor woman is an utter wreck most days, but I know it wasn’t out of the kindness of your heart.  “  John turns from the kettle, taking the two steps to the threshold of the sitting room. Stands just inside on the carpet, hands on hips. Hopes he doesn’t regret his next question. “ So tell me why you wanted to watch Sophie?”    
  
“ Test subject.”  
  
John gapes. Eyes bugging.  He jerks his gaze to the toddler sitting very, very still in his chair. Too still, in his professional opinion, for a normally very talkative and busy child. He stares back at Sherlock. Completely shocked. “ No.”  
  
“ Studies have shown that the human brain develops most rapidly between birth and three years of age, the cerebral cortex creates two million new synapse connections every second -”  
  
“ You didn’t.”  John snaps out of his stupor and practically trips over his own feet, so desperate to reach the girl.  
  
“ It’s such a small window, really, to influence their education and learning processes, to shape their minds into something useful. Why, just the linguistic skills alone- ” Sherlock continues his dissertation on early childhood brain development.  
  
“ Sophie!”  John grabs the girl up, cradled tightly in his arms. Striding to the window to get a better look at her color, her breathing, her pulse, her skin for marks.  “ Dear god...”  
  
The trance appears to be broken and Sophie is now struggling valiantly. Making fretful sounds, though nothing John is able to interpret as words.  He coos and shushes softly as he inspects her.  
  
“ John! You’ve ruined the experiment!  I’ll have to disregard this portion of the testing and I was very interested to see-  
  
“ Sherlock, what did you do? What did you give her? ” John is not panicking. On the outside. He’s a doctor with a young patient and he knows better than to give in to such an uncontrolled display of fear.  Inside, he is a frightened wreck of a man who remembers all too well a mug of coffee with an extra ingredient and hours of hellish paranoia and emotional chaos.  “ Tell me!”  
  
Sherlock’s voice contains a hint of confusion. “ We had tea, milk and sugar. Toast- wheat- and orange marmalade. Perfectly acceptable fare. Not enough to ruin her lunch.”  
  
“ What else?  What kind of experiments? “ John just manages to hold Sophie’s head in place long enough to check her pupil dilation, turning quickly from the uncovered window to the darker flat several times.  It seems normal.  He takes a quick sniff and can’t immediately smell anything questionable on her breath.    
  
Sophie has both her hands on the large one cupped around her chin and cheeks. Pulling, squeezing, digging her amazingly sharp little nails into John’s skin. “ No Dohn! Lahlock! Lahlock pligh!”  
  
“ Reflexes, memory, spatial awareness, attention span...”  Sherlock’s voice trails off. Uncertain.    
  
John turns back around, nearly thrown off balance by Sophie flinging herself forward, attempting escape. The expression on Sherlock’s face is remarkable.  Realization of what John is inferring. Indignation at what John is implying.  And most of all, what John can plainly see in the line of his mouth and the light in his eyes, is hurt. By what John thought him capable of doing.  
  
“ Reflexes?”  
  
Sherlock points to a small bouncy ball on the coffee table.  
  
 _Playing catch _. “ Memory?”  John swallows.  
  
Sherlock points to a deck of playing cards scattered on the desk, half the deck face down. Several piles are sorted by suit or the particular butterfly species pictured on the back.  
  
 _A matching game._ “ Spatial awareness?”  Sherlock doesn’t even have to point it out. John now sees the stack of frames and several small hardback books arranged in recognizable, if imaginative, structures near the hearth.   _Building blocks_.  
  
John sets Sophie down, watches with a strange combination of relief and a sinking heart as she makes straight for Sherlock. Her fingers latch onto the crease of his dress trousers. “ Attention span?”    
  
“ We were in the middle of testing when you interrupted.”  
  
John can’t help a rueful smile. “ A staring contest?”    
  
“ Best 2 out of 3.”  Sherlock is somber and sincere. The hurt diminished but not entirely gone. Sophie is glaring at John with a passion inappropriate for one so young.  
  
Not Good, and John knows it. Blush burning to the tips of his ears and the nape of his neck, John rubs the back of his head. Ruffling up his short hair. Lets his hand fall heavily back at his side and returns penitent eyes to man and child. “ I’m sorry. Truly.”   He kneels beside the desk, groaning quietly at the ache in his knees. Holds his arms open and puts on his most charming smile.” Forgive Dohn, sweetheart?”  
  
There’s barely a pause before Sophie launches herself toward John. Laughing with utter abandonment as though the entire debacle never happened. As though John hadn’t just shown himself as a complete arse.  He scoops her up into a close hug, accepting the sloppy, open mouth ‘kiss’ on his cheek. “ Thank you, Sophie.”  Lets her go and grins as she hops around in a lopsided circle.  John haltingly rises to his feet, knees protesting the movement again.  He feels quite old, at the moment. Old and foolish.  
  
Sherlock has been standing silent all this time. Hands in his pockets. Openly staring at John.  
  
Skirting around the exuberant toddler, John approaches his flatmate with a ducked head and an embarrassed flush still staining his cheeks. He sucks up his courage and raises his eyes. “ You know I don’t think-”  
  
“ It’s fine, John.” Softly, gently. Sherlock flicks his gaze over Sophie, then back to John. A genuine, if small, smile curves his mouth.  “ Completely understandable error on your part.”  
  
“ I am. An. Idiot.” John sighs deeply.  
  
“ I know. “ Sherlock’s smile widens a bit. Back to his normal self, and John knows he’s forgiven.  
  
The kettle begins to whistle.  
  
Sophie squeals for tea. In mangled French.  
  
Sherlock complains about John’s selection of biscuits.  
  
John can only chuckle. And continue to marvel at this insane existence he’s come to love.  
  
 **end**

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to everyone who reads, kudos' and comments!!!


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